


The Closed Door

by ToSerWithLove



Series: Closed / Open [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Look It's Actual Smut This Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToSerWithLove/pseuds/ToSerWithLove
Summary: He sighed. “Is that what you came to my room for? To inquire about the state of affairs along the Kingsroad?”She bit her lip. *Why does he still make me feel like a nervous maid?* “No.”“No. I thought not. Close the door and come here then.”





	The Closed Door

**Author's Note:**

> I took a break from my WIP to write this ficlet for Twitter user BookBrienne, who asked for a "one-shot pwp with the prompt: close the door and come here." I would probably willingly devote my free time to writing her pretty much whatever the hell she wants if it means more of her art, but my smut skills are incredibly rusty, so I hope this is satisfactory. (Largely inspired by her second image here: https://knifeears.tumblr.com/post/187443829549.)  
______________________________

Brienne lowered her hood and shook her shoulders, loosing a flurry of snow from her heavy cloak onto the floor. The three-day patrol had been another quiet one, but they all knew it was only the calm before the building storm. Every night seemed colder, and every day that the sun still peeked above the horizon for a few hours was a blessing. If she judged correctly, it was afternoon now, and the western sky was already turning red and gold. Podrick came running toward her, and something about his eagerness to reach her gave her pause. “What is it?” she asked, her heart sinking and her thoughts turning to her father. _Was there a raven? What news? _

He looked at her carefully. “He’s here, my lady, ser.”

_My father? _She shook her head. _No, that’s not possible. _“Who is here, Podrick?”

“Ser Jaime. Ser Jaime is here.”

Her hands stilled at the clasp of her cloak and dropped away from it. _Jaime. _She took a breath and forced a steadiness into her voice despite the tremble she felt in her legs. “When did he arrive?”

“Yesterday. He’s asked after you. Shall I take you to him?”

She was cold, exhausted, and dirty; but suddenly she could not imagine bathing or eating or sleeping without seeing him first. “Yes.”

They wound through the stone halls, and she wondered whether Pod had always walked so slowly. Finally he stopped and nodded toward a door. He smiled shyly at her and then headed back the way they had come. She put a gloved hand on the smooth wood and pushed.

Jaime was seated in a chair before the fire, and he looked up as the door swung open. _Gods, he is beautiful_, she thought. He was always beautiful, but now he looked somehow better. Far better than he had looked at Harrenhal, where she had thought him half a god. Better even than he had looked at that dingy inn in the Riverlands, where she had given him her maidenhead. His hair was down past his shoulders again. It was a mane of curls illuminated in the last rays of sunlight. She leaned against the doorjamb and rested her hand on her sword hilt, the golden lion on it solid and familiar beneath her fingers. For a moment, just a moment, his surprise and pleasure at seeing her in his doorway was evident on his face.

“I’m glad you made it here safely,” she said.

“I’m glad you are back from your patrol.”

“How were things along the road?”

He sighed. “Is that what you came to my room for? To inquire about the state of affairs along the Kingsroad?”

She bit her lip. _Why does he still make me feel like a nervous maid? _“No.”

“No. I thought not. Close the door and come here then.”

She shut the door and leaned against it. He reclined back in the chair and smiled. He meant to appear casual, she knew, but there was something careful and predatory about his every motion, and she swallowed.

“Come here, I said.”

She shook her head and smiled wryly. “I’ve been on patrol for three days, Jaime. I smell like woodsmoke and my horse. I’m tired, and I need a bath.”

“Good, you’ll smell exactly the way I remember you then.” He laughed. “Come here, wench.”

She unbuckled her swordbelt and laid the precious weapon on a nearby table before crossing the room and standing in front of him, so close that his knees bumped against her shins. “I’m here,” she whispered.

He reached up and under her cloak, caressing her hip. “Come _here_.” His hand slid down the back of her leg and pulled her toward him. The chair was wide, and soon she sat astride him with her knees nestled on either side of his hips. He felt under her fur for the clasp of her cloak, and when he released it, she let it slip carelessly to the floor. “A little help, here, if you wouldn’t mind,” he muttered as he shoved her mail up awkwardly. She helped him pull it over her head, and it rattled as it fell.

She had some thought that she should wipe down the mail and spread the cloak out to dry, but then his mouth on hers drove every practical concern from her head. A heat spread through her as he fumbled with her gambeson. She pulled away from him to tug it off and toss it beside the growing pile of her garments before returning to his lips. After months away from each other, there was a hungry edge to their kissing that had not been there before. He leaned back and ran his hand up her leg, pressing at the junction of her thighs through the woolen fabric. “As much as I hate to tell you to climb off of me, even for the brief moment it will take us to stagger over to the bed, if you want to fuck me in this chair you’re going to have to start wearing skirts, sweetling.”

She shoved at his shoulder roughly as she stood. _Sweetling. _How he could make tender words sound like insults and _wench _sound like an endearment, she would never know.

He rose after her and caught her arm as she began to turn, claiming her mouth again. They staggered backward until her legs caught the bed and they tumbled onto it. She made a small noise as his warm hand found its way beneath her tunic to cup her breast, and she clasped his head. It was only then she realized she still wore her gloves. She reached around him to tug at them behind his head. One at a time, she tossed them aimlessly in the general direction of the chair. He kissed his way down her neck then abandoned her breast to tug at the laces of her breeches.

“Jaime, give me a moment.” She laughed. “I don’t even have my boots off. At least let me—“ But he was already slipping his hand inside her smallclothes, and she gasped as a calloused finger pressed gently at her opening. She was already wet for him, she knew, and he slid his finger in before drawing it out to rub slickly at that tiny spot that set her on fire. _“Jaime,_” she groaned. Her boots sought purchase on the bed as her hips arced upward. He started to move down her, but she caught his face in her hands. “No.” He stilled, an uncertain look in his eyes. “Later, mayhaps. I want—“ She drew a breath. She was still so unaccustomed to _wanting _in and of itself that asking for what she wanted seemed almost beyond her. “I want to see you,” she finally managed. “Come here.” She drew him back up to her lips, and his talented fingers resumed their work.

It seemed no time at all before she was panting and writhing beneath him, the fire he kindled blazing through her and leaving her feeling as spent and light as a cedar log burned away to ash. _A breeze would scatter me across the room_. He kissed her forehead tenderly then moved off of her to unlace her boots. They fell with a thud beside the bed, and she lifted her hips obediently when he tugged at her breeches as well. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear the rustle of his clothes as he maneuvered out of them, and she sat up to remove her tunic. It seemed impossible to think that less than an hour ago she had felt as though she might never be warm again. Now as he climbed back on top of her, his cock hard and hot where it pressed against her leg, she felt as though he had pulled the summer sun into the room. His beard was scratchy against her breast when he took a pert nipple between his teeth and made her squirm before he released it and soothed it with his tongue. When he thrust into her, she tangled her fingers in his hair, and he moaned. She could count on one hand the number of times they had done this before they had parted ways, and yet the rhythm of him against her and in her felt as familiar as the rise and fall of ocean waves had been during her girlhood on Tarth. He worked his hand between them and found her nub again, and she clutched at him frantically as the glowing embers there flared once again to life. He would have her nail marks on his shoulders later, she realized, and some part of her previously unknown to herself thrilled at the idea of the marks of their lovemaking hidden beneath his clothes when they went down to dinner. With a strangled cry he pulled away from her abruptly to spill beside her, and her own second pleasure followed soon behind.

He collapsed heavily at her side and drew her into his arms. She wound a golden curl lazily around one finger, and he ran the back of his fingers gently across the jumble of scars on her cheek. The fire in the hearth was the only light in the room now, although it couldn’t yet be what they would have once considered evening. She shivered despite the sheen of sweat on her skin, and he pulled her closer. _Soon_, she thought. Soon the sun would stop rising altogether. Soon they would learn what horrors awaited them in this winter the Starks claimed had not yet even truly begun. But in that moment the closed door stood between them and everything else in the world, and she leaned in to kiss him again.


End file.
